For A Moment
by Azar443
Summary: He did not deserve her.


**Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction about Aragorn/Eowyn and my second fanfiction to date. The fic takes place basically after Arwen has wed Aragorn, and it's rather like Eowyn's musings. Reviews, especially constructive criticism is encouraged, but not flames please. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of The Rings, nor the characters of Eowyn, Aragorn, Arwen and Legolas, and other characters mentioned. They belong to the wonderful Professor Tolkien.**

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He did not deserve her.

She gave him her all; her heart, her love, and yet he denied them, preferring instead his elf love, who was sailing away as he missed her.

He did not deserve her, that's what she told herself. Over and over and over.

That didn't mean it was the truth, the reality.

The reality, what was real now, is that he wed his beautiful elf.

And she was beautiful, so beautiful that Eowyn's heart broke to see them together. The both of them, dark haired and regal, standing there with their hands clasped. It was as if they were alone in their own little world, not standing in the middle of the citadel, with all of Gondor's people staring at them in adoration. Staring at them as if they were Gods.

And Eowyn supposed they were. Gods that is. He, the heir of Isildur, one of the few remaining Dunedain, and she the lady of Rivendell, the precious daughter of Lord Elrond and the Evenstar of her people. Even the Valar must smile on their union today.

And who was she, Eowyn, lowly shield maiden of Rohan, princess she may be. Princess of barbarians, she heard the people of Gondor whisper as she ran wildly through the city, with her long blonde hair streaming through the wind, without a care in the world.

Legolas sees. He sees the longing in her eyes every time she sets her eyes upon the King. He pitied her, but she never needed, no, wanted anyone's pity, much less the pity of one who held Arwen Undomiel in awe, as did others. But pity her he did. Untouched by the strange; _to him,_ emotion of love, he wished that the steely eyed, strong shieldmaiden could have found her own happiness. But only _he_ could make Eowyn happy-_who else?-_ and sometimes to make someone happy, another had to be sacrificed. For Eowyn to be happy, Arwen would loose her love, much like Eowyn now. So he could only watch and stare in pity, understanding yet helpless.

Standing on the walls of Mina's Tirith, clad in a billowing white dress, she stared out the plains of the Pelennor, as she once stood at the top of Meduseld, where she first beheld him, coming to save her _(she thinks)_, eyes unseeing, remembering the blood spilt, the dead bodies of her people; her uncle, unmoving; dead. She saw all the sacrifices made, and for what? For her heart to be shattered in the end, for her family to be shattered and people killed. For the evil that haunted Middle Earth so long to be vanquished, for the return of the rightful king, and for the Evenstar to fulfill her destiny by her beloved's side.

Slowly, Eowyn is brought back to reality, brought back by the whispers murmured by the guards and people staring up at her. She smiled bitterly, no doubt they were whispering about how unladylike she was, how she allowed herself to be so wild and how unlike she was to their elegant polished queen. "That is how a queen should be, quiet, dignified, stately. Not some wild maiden from the wilds." That is what they all say, all the time. And Eowyn couldn't care less.

Something wet was upon her face. She lifted a pale, shaking finger to touch it. Water. Soon more and more droplets fell, drenching her completely. The people scattered, the barbarian princess _(to them)_ forgotten at the moment. Long she stood there, still and silent, water dripping on her face, her hair, her dress. Long she stood listening to the music of the rain, to the comforting scent it brought.

For a moment, a silent figure, as stoic and still as the lady, stared out at the tiny white speck on the wall. For a moment there was longing and an emotion that was love, yet had not the chance to grow, that shone through clear grey eyes. For a moment, the lady turned her head and two sets of grey eyes met, with love, regret and bitterness and for a moment, all was forgotten.

But the moment passed, and the lady turned once more and disappeared, as if a dream. The silent figure slipped back into the shadows, and the walls of Minas Tirith were once again silent and lonely.

And maybe, maybe the meeting of two hearts in that one moment really was just a dream. A dream in a moment gone by.


End file.
